


Literacy, among other things

by sockablock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campfire Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Technically pre-relationship - Freeform, angst a little bit, fables and stories galore, molly is 'functionally illiterate'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 17:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockablock/pseuds/sockablock
Summary: “Functionallyilliterate,” Molly sighed, “notactuallyilliterate. Thereisa difference.”“Which is?” Beau prompted skeptically. “I would joke that one starts with an ‘f’ but if you can’t read, then—”“Icanread, asshole,” he scowled. “I’ve read plenty of job postings and I even read the first chapter ofTusk Love, remember? I just mean that…that…I don’t know, I don’t retain the information, or something like that. It just doesn’t matter.”(or: Caleb realizes Molly is missing out on some stories, and wants to change that)





	Literacy, among other things

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the wonderful [@fanboyingduringteatime](http://fanboyingduringteatime.tumblr.com/) who I swear is like a brilliant fic idea machine over on tumblr

“Molly, why didn’t you tell us you’d been to Goldcrest before?” Jester asked curiously.

They were all piled into the cart, bouncing along the dirt path that led northwards to the Ashkeeper Peaks. Fjord and Nott sat at the head, steering the horses, as Caleb kept watch on the left flank and Beau attempted to focus on the right—though she kept throwing glances over her shoulder at a certain someone, seated in the back and gazing peacefully at the clouds. Jester had a napping Kiri snuggled in her lap, and was staring at Molly with rapt attention. 

He lowered his cards, and shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “I guess I didn’t realize where I was.”

She giggled at that and raised an eyebrow. “How could you not, though? Didn’t anybody say where you were going? Didn’t anybody announce the plans? Or didn’t you at least read the sign of the town as you were going in?”

Molly leaned back against the pole supporting their canopy and smiled lazily. “All the towns blur together after a while, dear. And honestly, I can’t be bothered with boring things like that. I’m…hmm, how to say this…functionally illiterate, I suppose.”

“Illiterate?” Fjord called from the front of the wagon. “ _Illiterate_?”

“What, _really_?” Jester exclaimed.

“You can’t _read_?” asked Beau, immediately leaning in.

“He _is_ only two,” mused Nott without looking back.

“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Kiri, stirring from her nap. Jester gave her a soothing pat on the head, and Molly rolled his eyes.

“ _Functionally_ illiterate,” he sighed, “not _actually_ illiterate. There _is_ a difference.”

“Which is?” Beau prompted skeptically. “I would joke that one starts with an ‘f’ but if you can’t read, then—”

“I _can_ read, asshole,” Molly scowled. “I’ve read plenty of job postings and I even read the first chapter of _Tusk Love_ , remember? I just mean that…that…I don’t know, I don’t retain the information, or something like that. It just doesn’t matter.”

“Molly is not one for books,” Yasha supplied. “But I will assure you all that he is capable of reading.”

“But don’t you like stories?” Jester pressed. “Don’t you like adventures and songs and drama and romance and—”

Molly put up a hand. “Of course I do, dear, of course I do. But I don’t need ink and parchment for that. I can just go to a bar, sit back, get a drink, listen to a minstrel weave a tale. It’s _alive_ that way. On paper it’s just dialogue and plot and, and…literary devices and what have you. But when someone sings it, or reads it, or stands in front of a crowd and spins it into reality, well, that’s where the tension is, where the thrills are, where the stories live. I _understand_ words on a page, I don’t understand why people bother.”

There was a brief silence following that.

“I feel like I should clap or something,” said Beau, shuffling in the cart and turning back to face the landscape rolling by. “I don’t totally get it, but nice speech.”

“I sort of get it,” said Jester, giving Molly a supportive pat on the knee. “Personally I think I like books more, you know, just because I read a _lot_ growing up and I just think they’re really wonderful to have around. But, but, your thing makes sense too.”

“Sailors are like that,” Fjord added helpfully. “They prefer spoken tales and shanties to gettin’ things from books.”

“You are valid, Molly,” said Yasha as she went back to her watch.

Nott shook her head and raised an eyebrow at Caleb. “Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked. “You love books, aren’t you going to defend them? Aren’t they amazing and great and have so much knowledge? Aren’t they the best ever, and don’t you want to get your hands on every one you can find?”

Caleb, who had remained silent this whole time, turned and met Nott’s confused gaze. Then he looked at Molly and shrugged. “Everybody is entitled to their own beliefs,” he said quietly. “I do not find any problems with that, and I do not think anybody should. There is nothing wrong with not being a reader.”

Molly blinked in surprise. Then he stuck his tongue out at Nott, settled back into his lounging position, and pulled his deck back out. “Thank you, dear,” he grinned at Caleb. “For your delightful support.”

Caleb shrugged again. “ _Kein problem_ ,” he said, and turned back to the hills rolling by.

\-------------------------------------------

Molly and Caleb had first watch that night in the forest off the road. The others had already retired to their sleeping rolls after a long day's travel, tent flaps drawn shut and snoring quietly.

The two of them sat alone beside the glowing campfire. They both lounged in the grass, leaning against a large boulder and staring through a break in the canopy at the moon glowing above. Fireflies twinkled gently around them. 

It was silent, save for their breathing, and the gentle hum of crickets. Then Caleb blinked, and looked over, and very softly, asked a question:

“Do you know the story of the magpie and the milkmaid?”

Molly was extremely taken aback by this, but recovered quickly and magnificently. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one, dear,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caleb nod solemnly.

“What about the tale of the farmer, his son, and the donkey?”

“No?” Molly said hesitantly. “I haven’t heard that one either.”

“The crow and the peacock?”

“Er…no.”

“The lion and the mouse.”

“Again, no.”

“The fox and the grapes?”

“Are you just describing dumb animals getting into shitty situations?”

“The frog in the well?”

“Caleb, I haven’t—”

“The three monks and the hill.”

“Dear—”

“The monkey and the peach? Or the cricket and the ant? Or the mouse in the larder or the farmer under the tree or the sword in the lake or the spear-seller and the shield or the—”

“Caleb, Caleb, for gods’ sake! No, I haven’t heard any of these bloody tales, alright? Fuck, no.”

“…the scorpion and the frog?”

He hesitated. “Alright,” he conceded begrudgingly, “I have heard that one.”

Caleb gave another nod, which was starting to get on his nerves. “But you have not heard any of the others?”

Molly groaned, and let the back of his head—and horns—hit the boulder behind him. “No, dear, I have not.”

“I see. Well, I have,” he said, and turned towards Molly with an unreadable expression. “I know them well. In fact, I know them _very_ well. Those were the first stories I learned to read.”

Molly groaned again, louder this time, and sagged down the rock until his back was in the grass and he was staring up at the stars. He closed his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you were lying before, Mister Caleb,” he grumbled. “Don’t tell me you’re about to lecture me on how important it is to read, and how I should practice or something, and how I should respect the written word—”

“No,” said Caleb, and Molly paused. “I was not going to say anything of that sort. I was actually going to say, again, that I have been thinking on your statement from earlier, and I understand what you are going through. I am bad at communication. Now more than ever, but even as a child I was not very good. And my parents would try to teach me things, and the elders would try to lecture at me, and my friends would try and tell me stories, but for some reason, I could never understand. Perhaps they spoke too quickly, or perhaps their speech was muddy, or maybe I myself could not keep up. I was called slow, you know, by a number of people. This was when I was _very_ young.”

Caleb looked back up at the quiet night sky, and pressed his back against the rock.

“Then Oma Müller, who lived a few houses down, she taught me to read. Those very stories, from a book she had. And maybe it was because I was in control of the language, and I could choose the speed and _I_ was doing the telling, but suddenly I could understand. I could understand very well. Eventually I figured out how to listen to others too. And before I knew it, I was not ‘slow’ or ‘simple’ anymore. I was bright. Intelligent. Even brilliant, some said. That wasn’t really the case, though, not really. I just found what worked for me. And if hearing things works for you, and you know this to be true, then that is wonderful, and I am happy for you.”

They were silent for a moment. Molly felt a strange knot in his chest unwind. 

“Oh,” he said quietly, and tried to clear his throat. “Oh. Um…thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

This made Molly chuckle, and his jewelry jingled softly. “I’m…er…glad you think that. I’ll admit, I didn’t really want to say anything about this before. I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think that I was dumb, I guess.”

Caleb frowned. _“Was_?” he asked. “What do you mean, by that?”

“You’re smart, obviously, and everybody knows it,” Molly said with a wave of his hand. “And you spend all your time pouring through tomes and shopping for books and reading papers and whatnot. I barely read, so obviously, in comparison…”

Caleb shook his head adamantly. “Smarts is not only in books. I am an idiot in social situations, you are the genius there. It is a matter of context. And it is different for everyone.”

Molly grinned at that. “Now _that_ is something I’d agree with,” he said with a strange lightness to his tone. “You’re…you _are_ quite clever, Mister Caleb.”

He could have sworn there was a faint smile across Caleb’s face as the wizard said, quietly, “You as well, Mister Mollymauk.”

They sat in the evening quiet for a while. Then Molly, still lounging in the grass with his hands folded behind his head, frowned.

“If you were just going to go ahead and reaffirm my whole…deal, or whatever,” he said curiously, “then why did you name all those stories and ask if I knew them? What was the point of that?”

Caleb shifted sheepishly and glanced down at Molly, whose eyes were closed though his brow was furrowed. 

“I…er…I was going to offer to tell them to you, actually,” he said. “Um…if you would like. They are only children’s stories,” he added hastily, “but, well, they are meaningful to me and if you have never heard them before, and I know you are probably not going to read them, then at least I could make sure you will be familiar with them from here on out, if you want, er…”

As he trailed off, he saw a bright grin creep across Molly’s face. His human vision was too weak to see, but a faint purple blush danced across the other man’s cheeks.

“I’d love that, Mister Caleb,” hummed Molly. “I think that sounds lovely.”

Caleb felt the edges of his own lips begin to quirk upwards. In the darkness, hidden by night, a tiny smile broke his usual stoic mask.

“Alright then, Mister Mollymauk,” he murmured back. “Which one would you like to hear?”

Molly considered this for a moment, face scrunching up as if in deep thought.

“How about the one with the peacock?”

Caleb laughed. It was soft, and barely audible, but it was one of the brightest and gentlest sounds Molly had ever heard.

“Alright, of course. The Crow and the Peacock it is.”

“Does it have a happy ending?”

Caleb considered this for a moment. “Not really,” he admitted. “But it’s got some pretty good life lessons, and if you’d like, maybe we could add a…an…epilogue, of sorts, to make sure it does.”

Molly laughed at that. “Have at it, then.”

Caleb leaned back against the rock and gazed up at the moon. He felt the grass rustle, and then Molly’s elbow rested lightly against his thigh. He startled, and his eyes went wide, but did not move away. 

Instead, after taking a moment to collect himself, he cleared his throat and very quietly, so as not to wake the others, began:

“ _Es war einmal,_ there was a flock of crows that lived in a tree together just above a group of peacocks. One day, one of the crows noticed his reflection when he was getting a drink at a lake. _I am so plain, and so boring,_ he thought to himself, _I wish I was beautiful like the peacocks._ So, the next day, he flew to where the peacocks lived and found a feather lying on the ground…”

And down in the grass, eyes closed and chest feeling warm, Molly let the lilting music of Caleb’s story wash over him.

Their campfire crackled beside them. The moonlight hummed, the fireflies whispered, and crickets chirped softly in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have a prompt, or just want to talk, hit me up [@sockablock](https://www.sockablock.tumblr.com) on Tumblr! 
> 
> <33333
> 
> (and for those of you wondering, i PROMISE im working on [the modern AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926323/chapters/34578522) and i promise it will update soon and ill chill with the drabbles sorry ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )


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